Things That Resound (Part V): The Weight of Glory

A thing resounds when it rings true

Ringing all the bells inside of you

Like a golden sky on a summer's eve

Your heart is tugging at your sleve

And you cannot say why

Part IV: The Weight of Glory

Excerpts from C.S. Lewis' essay The Weight of Glory...

I turn next to the idea of glory. There is no getting away from the fact that this idea is very prominent in the New Testament and in early Christian writings. Salvation is constantly associated with palms, crowns, white robes, thrones, and splendour like the sun and stars(...) When I began to look into this matter I was shocked to find such different Christians as Milton, Johnson, and Thomas Aquinas taking heavenly glory quite frankly in the sense of fame or good report. But not fame conferred by our fellow creatures- fame with God, approval or (I might say) "appreciation" by God. And then, when I had thought it over, I saw this view was scriptural; nothing can eliminate from the parable the divine accolade, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant." With that, a good deal of what I had been thinking fell down like a house of cards. I suddenly remembered that no one can enter heaven except as a child; and nothing is so obvious in a child as its great and undisguised pleasure in being praised. 
(...)
Perfect humility dispenses with modesty. If God is satisfied with the work, the work may be satisfied with itself. In the end that Face which is the delight or the terror of the universe must be turned upon each of us either with one expression or with the other, either conferring glory inexpressible or inflicting shame that can never be cured or disguised. I read in a periodical the other day that the fundamental thing is how we think of God. By God Himself, it is not! How God thinks of us is not only more important, but infinitely more important. 
(...)
To please God... to be a real ingredient in the divine happiness... to be loved by God, not merely pitied, but delighted in as the artist delights in his work or a father in a son- it seems impossible, a weight or burden of glory which our thoughts can hardly sustain. But it is so.
(...)
We should hardly dare to ask that any notice be taken of ourselves. But we pine. The sense that in this universe we are treated as strangers, the longing to be acknowledged, to meet with some response, to bridge some chasm that yawns between us and reality, is part of our inconsolable secret. And surely, from this point of view, the promise of glory, in the sense described, becomes highly relevant to our deep desire. For glory means good report with God, acceptance by God, response, acknowledgement, and welcome into the heart of things. The door on which we have been knocking all our lives will open at last. 
Perhaps it is rather crude to describe glory as the fact of being "noticed" by God. But this is almost the language of the New Testament. St. Paul promises to those who love God not, as we should expect, that they will know Him, but that they will be known by Him. It is a strange promise. Does not God know all things at all times? But it is dreadfully re-echoed in another passage of the New Testament. There we are warned that it may happen to anyone of us to appear at last before the face of God and hear only the appalling words, "I never knew you. Depart from Me." In some sense, as dark to the intellect as it is unendurable to the feelings, we can be both banished from the presence of Him who is present everywhere and erased from the knowledge of Him who knows all. We can be left utterly and absolutely outside- repelled, exiled, estranged, finally and unspeakably ignored. On the other can, we can be called in, welcomed, received, acknowledged. We walk every on the razor edge between these two incredible possibilities.
(...)
We do not want merely to see beauty, though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put to words- to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it. That is why we have peopled air and earth and water with gods and goddesses and nymphs and elves- that, though we cannot, yet these projections can enjoy themselves that beauty, grace, and power of which Nature is the image. That is why the poets tell us such lovely false-image. They talk as if the west wind could really sweep into a human soul; but it can't. They tell us that "beauty born of murmuring sound" will pass into human face; but it won't. Or not yet. For if we take the imagery of Scripture seriously, if we believe that God will one day give us the Morning Star and cause us to put on the splendour of the sun, then we may surmise that both the ancient myths and the modern poetry, so false as history, may be very near the truth as prophecy. At present we are on the outside of the world, the wrong side of the door. We discern the freshness and purity of morning, but they do not make us fresh and pure. We cannot mingle with the splendours we see. But the leaves of the New Testament are rustling with the rumour that it will not always be so. Some day, God willing, we shall get in (...) Nature is mortal; we shall outlive her. When all the suns and nebulae have passed away, each of you will still be alive. Nature is only the image, the symbol; but it is the symbol Scripture invites me to use. We are summoned to pass in through Nature, beyond her, into that splendour which she fitfully reflects. 
And in there, in beyond Nature, we shall eat of the tree of life. At present, if we are reborn in Christ, the spirit in us lives directly on God; but the mind and, still more, the body receives life from Him at a thousand removes- through our ancestors, through our food, through the elements. The faint, far-off results of those energies which God's creative rapture implanted in matter when He made the worlds are what we now call physical pleasures; and even thus filtered, they are too much for our present management. What would it be to taste at the fountainhead that stream of which even these lower reaches prove so intoxicating? Yet that, I believe, is what lies before us. 
(...)
Meanwhile the cross comes before the crown and tomorrow is a Monday morning. A cleft has opened in the pitiless walls of the world, and we are invited to follow our great Captain inside. The following Him is, of course, the essential point. That being so, it may be asked what practical use there is in speculations which I have been indulging. I can think of at least one such use. It may be possible for each of us to think too much of his own potential glory hereafter; it is hardly possible for him to think too often or too deeply about that of his neighbour. The load, or weight, or burden of my neighbor's glory should be laid on my back, a load so heavy that only humility can carry it, and the backs of the proud will be broken. It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations- these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit- immortal horrors or everlasting splendours. This does not mean that we are to be perpetually solemn. We must play. But our merriment must be of that kind (and it is, in fact, the merriest kind) which exists between people who have, from the outset, taken each other seriously- no flippancy, no superiority, no presumption. And our charity must be a real and costly love, with deep feeling for the sins in spite of which we love the sinner- no mere tolerance, or indulgence which parodies love as flippancy parodies merriment. Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbour is the holiest object present to your senses. If he is your Christian neighbour, he is holy in almost the same way, for in him also is Christ vere latitat- the glorifier and the glorified, Glory Himself, is truly hidden. 

Things That Resound (Part IV): Echoes of a Song Not Yet Sung

A thing resounds when it rings true

Ringing all the bells inside of you

Like a golden sky on a summer's eve

Your heart is tugging at your sleve

And you cannot say why

Part IV: Echoes of a Song Not Yet Sung

You'll notice a lot of italics in the next two posts. That's because if my suspicions are correct, "things that resound" are old truths, told over and over again, throughout the history of time. In some cases, I feel inclined to write my own account of whatever resounding noise I hear. In other cases, I'm inclined just to listen. These next two posts come from one who has made me feel what Peterson calls the "heart tugging at your sleeve" more than anyone else...

Excerpts from C.S. Lewis' essay The Weight of Glory...

The Christian, in relation to heaven, is in much the same position as (the schoolboy learning Greek). Those who have attained everlasting life in the vision of God doubtless know very well that it is no mere bribe, but the very consummation of their earthly discipleship; but we who have not yet attained it cannot know this in the same way, and cannot even begin to know it all except by continuing to obey and finding the first reward of our obedience in our increasing power to desire the ultimate reward. Just in proportion as the desire grows, our fear lest it should be a mercenary desire will die away and finally be recognised as an absurdity. But probably this will not, for most of us, happen in a day; poetry replaces grammar, gospel replaces law, longing transforms obedience, as gradually the tide lifts a grounded ship. 

(...) Now, if we are made for heaven, the desire of our proper place will be already in us, but not yet attached to the true object, and will even appear as the rival of that object. And this, I think, is just what we find. No doubt this is one point in which my analogy of the schoolboy breaks down. The English poetry which he reads when he ought to be doing Greek exercises may be just as good as the Greek poetry to which the exercises are taking him, so that in fixing on Milton instead of journeying on to Aeschylus his desire is not embracing a false object. But our case is very different. If a transtemporal, transfinite good is our real destiny, then any other good on which our desire fixes must be in some degree fallacious, must bear at best only a symbological relation to what will truly satisfy.

In speaking of this desire for our own far-off country, which we find in ourselves even now, I feel a certain shyness. I am almost committing an indecency. I am trying to rip open an inconsolable secret in each of you- the secret which hurts so much that you take your revenge on it by calling it names like Nostalgia and Romanticism and Adolescence; the secret also which pierces with such sweetness that when, in very intimate conversation, the mention of it becomes imminent, we grow awkward and affect to laugh at ourselves; the secret we cannot hide and cannot tell, though we desire to do both. We cannot tell it because it is a desire for something that has never actually appeared in our experience. We cannot hide it because our experience is constantly suggesting it, and we betray ourselves like lovers at the mention of a name. Our commonest expedient is to call it beauty and behave as if that had settled the matter. Wordsworth's expedient was to identify it with certain moments in his own past. But all this is a cheat. If Wordsworth had gone back to those moments in the past, he would not have found the thing itself, but only the reminder of it; what he remembered would turn out to be itself a remembering. The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things- the beauty, the memory of our own past- are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself, they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshipers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.

Things That Resound (Part III): The Basin

A thing resounds when it rings true

Ringing all the bells inside of you

Like a golden sky on a summer's eve

Your heart is tugging at your sleve

And you cannot say why

Part III: The Basin

There is in each of us a garden. In the middle of that garden is an elevated basin, almost like a birdbath. It is large and it is deep, and at the top of the basin- just in arm's reach- we find a lever. If we pull this lever, water begins to pour out of a pipe that descends from above. The pipe isn't perfectly aimed at the center of the basin. Its flow isn't always steady and, in fact, it's sometimes quite violent. When pulling the lever, one can never know exactly where the water will land or precisely the rate at which the water will come out. There are even times when a jet shoots directly at the one pulling the lever- bearing a startling resemblance to what would otherwise be perceived as assault.

Beneath and around this basin is a collection of plants. These plants are at various stages- some mere seeds, others with expanding roots, and others grown with buds or blossoms. If each of us has such a garden, we can in that sense be called gardeners. And gardeners must decide how to best care for their garden.

You see, the gardens we now have were developed in an especially arid climate. The rains are few and far between. They're refreshing when they come, but before you know it they've passed on. Fortunately, there is another source of water- that of the basin, lever, and pipe. Trouble is... the unpredictable nature of this alternate source (as previously mentioned) lead many a gardener to be satisfied with the occasional passing shower. For gardeners in this category, there is danger that the showers will one day become too infrequent- perhaps that they will cease entirely. And then, their garden will die.

Some gardeners have learned to supplement the rain by using the alternate source. There's a risk involved, they realize, but they have a garden to tend to. And so, when they see the leaves begin to shrivel, they put on the raincoat, rainboots, and even, perhaps, some sturdy eye protection- and they approach the lever. They know what could happen. It's happened before. But if they can just bear it for a few moments, they think, they'll get enough water in their basin to last through the current drought.

Those who risk pulling the lever are faced with a curious predicament. At what point do you release it? When do you move on to gathering a pitcher, filling it from the basin, and watering the plants in your garden? When do you reach a reasonable level- enough to feel confident you'll be able to make it 'til the rains come again- that you can turn off the unpredictable, violent stream bursting forth from the pipe? When do you go back to being a normal gardener?

A few gardeners- a very few, in fact- implement a different strategy. The strategy is an very old one... so old that it's now considered by some to be no more than a myth. As the legend goes, there are gardeners who give little consideration to the rain at all. It may rain or it may not, but these gardeners rarely notice. Their apathy (as it's perceived by others) is the product of their methodology. For these gardeners view the pipe not as a supplement, but as a primary source. If you ask them directly, they might even go so far as to say that it's a purer source than even the rain.

Oddly enough, these gardeners don't have pitchers. They may have had pitchers at some point in the past, but they have since lost them. Stranger still, these gardeners spend little (if any) time maintaining the individual plants in their garden. They do not prune, they do not weed, they do not fertilize. As it turns out, they are incapable of doing any of these things- their arms are attached to the lever, their bodies withstanding the force of the inverted geyser above them. The oddest thing of all, it turns out, has nothing to do with these gardeners or their unusual methodology, but rather pertains to their garden.

You see, the basins in these gardens aren't mere storage devices. The water inside of them wells up, grows into a stream... a river... an ocean... and overflows its barriers. This water rains down onto the plants in the garden. It overtakes the formerly barren paths, infiltrates the depths of the soil, and nourishes every plant with all that it ever longed for. These gardens are real gardens. And in them you will find real beauty and life.

Things That Resound (Part II): Story

A thing resounds when it rings true

Ringing all the bells inside of you

Like a golden sky on a summer's eve

Your heart is tugging at your sleve

And you cannot say why

Part II: Story

Dots on the graph represent single events. The x-axis is time. I suppose you could conceive of the y-axis as space, but I think it would probably be confusing to do so. It's better to think of it as some sort of good / bad continuum, though I fear that this, too, is ultimately misleading.

The most important concept to start with is that

TIME is not the same as THE PASSAGE OF EVENTS

While the physicist knows a specific formula that describes the relationship between these two things (an equation, if you will), we know from practical experience that in the real world no such obvious correlation exists. 

For instance, in the graph below, the passage of events is slow relative to time.

(A real-world example of this might be the Dark Ages)

Conversely, in the graph below, the passage of events is fast relative to time.

(A real-world example would be the Enlightenment)

We all, both as individuals and as groups, have a sense of the relationship between TIME and the PASSAGE OF EVENTS at any given moment. Sometimes we feel that the passage of events is too slow, and we want change (which is, by definition, the presentation of an event or a sequence of events). At other times, we fear that there may be too much change in too short of a time, and we seek to slow down.

But the thing that seems obvious to me is that no one wants zero change. Imagine the following sequence of "events"...

There are few people, if any, who genuinely desire this. I have a theory for why that is.

I think we hate the idea of zero change- of zero events between the beginning and the end- because events are actually the representation of something deeper.

As we all know, events don't stand independent of one another. Event A influences Event B which influences Event C. This is what we call causality.

But even causality isn't the whole story. In fact, the previous sentence inadvertently answers the next question. What is beneath causality? Why do we ask the question "why"?

The reason is that causality is a byproduct of something bigger. It is the byproduct of STORY.

By drawing connections between events, we receive a picture that tells a story. Each individual dot, each separate event, if considered in isolation, is without meaning, and thus, tells no story.

Let us then go back to an earlier question. Why is the graph below unsatisfying?

It's unsatisfying (and deeply so) because there is no story. A beginning and an end, by themselves, are not enough.

If at my birth I am at Point A and at my death I am at Point A, and no single event happened in between, then my birth and death had to have happened at the same time, because it is physically impossible for me to have not moved or acted in some way in the time between them. And if they are the same and there were no intermediate events, then I did not actually exist at all. I would have no story.

However, each of us knows that we have a story- both as individuals and as groups. We know that between point A and point Z,

SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED,
SOMETHING IS HAPPENING, and
SOMETHING WILL HAPPEN

What we call the WHAT HAS HAPPENED, WHAT IS HAPPENING, and WHAT WILL HAPPEN, when grouped together, is story.

While we all experience and, to varying degrees, know our individual stories, it is considerably more difficult to see, know, and believe... The Story.

I would argue that there are four fears that we have about The Story, and I would argue that most all of mankind's troubles with seeing, knowing, and believing The Story boil down to one of these four fears:

1. There is no Story.

Despite the fact that we cannot deny our own individual stories, some fear that the large-scale nature of the universe is not so clearly connected. There is not always causality... Sometimes there is just chance.

2. The Story isn't big.

We love to read books, watch movies, or hear the telling of stories. And despite the beauty of some of the small, momentary stories, we have a special affinity for the big ones. Why do stories like Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, Harry Potter, and Chronicles of Narnia become immediate blockbuster hits? Among other things, the reason is their magnitude.

We see something when Aragorn leads an army into an epic battle or when Luke destroys the Death Star that is fundamentally big. We are drawn to these stories like a flying insect to light. But in approaching these stories and seeing their "bigness", we can't help but wonder if such bigness is not confined to the movie screen... to the imagination.

3. The Story isn't good.

Some of us are able to accept that there is a Story and that it is a big story. But when they look at the parts of that story they see around them or the parts that they experience directly, they do not like the story's plot.

4. The Story isn't my story.

Finally, some may accept that there is a Story, that it is big, and that it is good. But they have a story that seems as though it is different from The Story. They think that while there is such a big and good Story being told, they are not a part of it. They have their own story- and while it's considerably smaller and not nearly as good, it's the story that they are a part of and... it will have to do.

The Bible tells a story.

It claims that it is The Story.

It claims that it is big.

It claims that it is good.

And it claims that we are a part of it...

It claims that this Story is our story. 

Things That Resound (Part I): Intro

A thing resounds when it rings true

Ringing all the bells inside of you

Like a golden sky on a summer's eve

Your heart is tugging at your sleve

And you cannot say why

-Andrew Peterson, More

As I wrapped up the "chronicles" of my journey thus far, I struggled to identify the most appropriate transition to my long-term plan for this project. Do I just dive right in? Do I start rambling on about whatever island I happen to pass, whatever fellow sailor I happen to meet? I could do that. It would probably be pretty boring.

So I thought again about what it was that I was really trying to do here. Why is it that I'm typing into this screen for this blog at this moment, rather than doing so for some other one? I enjoy writing. But why am I writing this? And why now?

I then came to the realization that these answers came down (as they often do) to the line of an Andrew Peterson song. In his album The Far Country, Peterson brings his audience time after time into an unyielding encounter with the reality and nature of death. True to form, his lyrics paint truth upon the canvas of the listener's heart. One encounters in his songs all that is most beautiful in both death and life- the sense of where we really are and where we're going. He concludes the record with a song called "More", in which he begins at a somber grave site and ends in the midst of our wildest dreams.

It struck me that a verse from this song (which I've included above) ultimately encapsulates what is likely a major impetus for my sitting here at this moment working on this particular project. You see, I really enjoy reading books. I start more than I finish- but I start a lot. The world is fascinating to me. You could give me a book about some obscure topic and (if I wasn't allowed to be distracted by the many stacks of other books sitting on my desk) I would most certainly find something within its pages that was interesting.

For that reason, my journey of leaving England hasn't been all hardship and struggle. It's been tough, no doubt, but even a lonely boat can encounter some incredible things. Having said that, after acquiring a certain amount of "knowledge", I began to recognize that there was a subtle distinction between certain types of knowing. Most languages, in fact, have multiple words for the verb we English-speakers simply refer to as "to know". For instance, in Spanish there is saber (to know a fact, or to know about) but there is also conocer (to know in the sense of  a relationship, to be familiar with, or even to know intimately). In More, I believe Peterson is referring to the latter when he sings about a "thing that resounds".

As we all know (you decide if this is an instance of saber or conocer), the world is not merely a collection of facts and pieces of information. Even at the most rudimentary level, there really is more. I don't yet fully recognize what more there is. But I'd be lying if I didn't say that I feel deep within me, even if just on occasion, the sense of ringing bells, golden skies, and tugging hearts. In the next series of posts, I hope to share a few of those "things that resound" which seem to have stayed with me no matter where I travel.

Chronicles (Part VII): Acquiring Perspective

As I mentioned in the introduction to this site, my departure from England occured some time ago. I’m collecting and sharing these posts now because I have moved past the place of pure frustration and confusion to a place of increased perspective. Again, my journey is not yet complete. But perhaps I’ve seen a sufficient amount along the way that I can now more safely navigate the waters. That said, I don’t want to ignore the fact that I’ve crossed paths with my fair share of dangerous lands- most, if not all, of which were intentionally approached (you can decide for yourself the wisdom of these decisions).

So before I share with you the experience of the seasoned yachtsman, I feel compelled to share the (in)experience of the foolish runaway. Just like Chesterton felt in recounting his voyage, many of these “chronicles” are somewhat embarassing to me now- just as, I’m sure, my current ones will be at a later time. But the point of this endeavor is not to preserve my pride. It is to be honest…

I’ll be posting seven pieces from the early parts of my journey.

10/30/09

When viewing the actions we take as a society, I find myself often wondering what end we are pursuing. We are constantly striving. Seeking. Fighting. Struggling. But, regardless of the fact that we disagree on a large number of things, and regardless of whether we are running towards different finish lines, it seems that we are at least asking the same questions. We generally have the same values (not necessarily in a religious or moral sense, but in the sense of quintessential desires). Collectively, I feel that we have our eyes fixated on a future that we are incessantly striving to realize.

What is it that we are striving for? What is it that we gather together to achieve, electing officials to offices to seek more directly on our behalf? We love to talk about progress. I’d say that progress is a fairly easy thing to achieve as a society. If you put enough people together for long enough, they will eventually realize what things are being done wrong (there’s always plenty in that department) and at some point after that will eventually find a solution to make it right (or at least, a little less wrong than before). I think as humans we are finely tuned to correct our mistakes, to learn from our non-lethal errors. We may be stubborn. History has certainly shown that to be one of our defining qualities. But at some point the wall of stupidity crumbles to reason’s siege.

I have to say that while progress is admirable and reasonably attainable, it’s more of a description than an explanation of mankind’s drive. At the same time, I am hesitant in saying that. The case for progress alone is compelling. We are inspired by the prospect of tomorrow being better than today. We take pride in the fact that, while we still aren’t where we want to be, we sure have come a long way. We look to our past, shake our heads, and thank God we live in modern times. We look to our future, at times with fear, but often with hope.

I really think that’s what it breaks down to. Progress is ultimately a watered down word for hope. Hope that next year will be better than this one. Hope that our children will grow up in a world of opportunities we never had. Hope that the diseases which kill millions will be defeated. Hope that war-mongering dictators will succumb to reasonable, virtuous men. Those are potent, inspiring words. Few can hear them and not be moved. But, at the same time, they can’t explain it all. That argument, in and of itself, is fundamentally cyclical. Powerful? Absolutely. Effective? Entirely. But cyclical. It goes something like this. We strive our entire lives so that our children can inherit a better life, a better world than ours. So that… our children can strive their entire lives so that their children can inherit a better life, a better world than theirs. So that… So that… So that…

While hope is a powerful thing, fear is often present to counterbalance it. Its role is quite similar to hope’s, and often achieves similar (if not a bit less intelligent) results. Those of us motivated by fear (or in those times where we are motivated by fear), we look to the past in the opposite manner of those motivated by hope. We focus on the negative things in the world that (we believe) did not exist in the past. Something new has crept in. We didn’t notice it at first. But it’s gaining ground, threatening life as we know it. Seeking to make our children’s world even worse than ours. And we must fight it. Or something like that. Despite what wise Solomon said millennia ago, we convince ourselves that there are, in fact, a multitude of new things under the sun.

I should say that I am in many ways a pragmatist. I generally care more about what gets done than what motivated people to do it. Whether done in hope or fear, I believe a good act is a good act. However, that’s not really the issue. Man’s inherent “goodness” or “evilness”- whatever those terms mean- is not what I care about at the moment. As strictly a personal opinion, I think those “evil” men in the world have taken what is a good desire and perverted it or taken it to an extent which it was not meant to go. It’s hard for me to think they were simply born with the evil gene, while the rest of us were fortunate enough to receive the dominant allele. So, in that sense, I argue that we are back to the same fundamental question. What motivates us as a people? Throw out the cases where people do really good and really bad things. They are both, I have to believe, acting on what are (or at least were at some point) the same drive. The same ultimate goal.

We can take a purely Darwinian approach, holding that we simply want what is best for us and our offspring. Our genes want us to survive, to reproduce, to dominate. Whatever meets those goals is reinforced (selected for) and persists in future generations. It’s a good argument. It’s nearly impossible to come up with a case where someone acts in pure violation of this theory, where their actions and self interests do not align in any way. Social reciprocity serves as an adequate, selfish basis for all seemingly selfless acts. Any gaps in the theory can be filled in by the panacea that is the normal curve.

I think much of human behavior can, at the very least, be sufficiently explained in this light. We clearly pursue courses of action that lead to the betterment of our group. On any level of life, we strive to increase our status through our group. Countries war over this idea. Who, in the history of mankind, has honestly been okay with the idea that their nation could be taken over by another? The instances are rare. The point is that we don’t care as much about fundamental values as we do what is ours. I doubt many people, including myself, would say that as a personal statement. But, in practice it’s true. Nations across the world, and in every period of time, have differed (often in profound ways) on the core values they adhere to and push for in the rest of the world. Largely, we refuse to accept that someone else’s way is better and more desirable than ours. Logically that doesn’t make a bit of sense.

How can everybody think they’re right when there are always a multitude of options? How is it that we can be so quickly motivated to go to war, to die, for the values of our nation (and I’m not referring to America any more than any other country here)? I’m not for a second saying there isn’t a right answer. But that’s not relevant to the point here. We clearly and undeniably fight for what is ours instead of what is right in most cases. Granted, we generally believe that those two qualities are one and the same. Logically, however, we know that’s often not true.

Chronicles (Part VI): A Familiar Neighborhood

As I mentioned in the introduction to this site, my departure from England occured some time ago. I’m collecting and sharing these posts now because I have moved past the place of pure frustration and confusion to a place of increased perspective. Again, my journey is not yet complete. But perhaps I’ve seen a sufficient amount along the way that I can now more safely navigate the waters. That said, I don’t want to ignore the fact that I’ve crossed paths with my fair share of dangerous lands- most, if not all, of which were intentionally approached (you can decide for yourself the wisdom of these decisions).

So before I share with you the experience of the seasoned yachtsman, I feel compelled to share the (in)experience of the foolish runaway. Just like Chesterton felt in recounting his voyage, many of these “chronicles” are somewhat embarassing to me now- just as, I’m sure, my current ones will be at a later time. But the point of this endeavor is not to preserve my pride. It is to be honest…

I’ll be posting seven pieces from the early parts of my journey.

9/4/2008

God’s neighborhood is not safe. It is not in suburban America far away from the gangs and the hookers and the infectious diseases. God’s neighborhood is not quiet or laid back or boring. No, God lives far away from security and comfort. He inhabits places of pain, suffering, and hardship. In fact, His very nature draws him to it. We are not saying that God is not omnipresent. Of course God can be found in every place in the world and can be served whole-heartedly there. However, Christ did not spend the majority of his ministry at the table of tax collectors, in the houses of whores, and at public executions for no reason. God is the great physician. He heals the sick and wounded. And if God is to be known it must be through the catastrophic effect he has on the world’s harshest conditions. If a doctor is to be made great it can only be through his healing the most difficult injuries, the most perplexing medical phenomena. Did Christ himself not say that it is the sick who need a doctor and not the self-righteous? So why do we as Christians seek out safety and security. Why do we value protection above everything else? The answers are obvious. Comfort. Stability. Human nature. However these must not be excuses. We are more than humans in Christ. We have within us the ultimate cure-all. Cancer. Malaria. Influenza. HIV. All of their spiritual-world equivalents (and in another sense these things themselves) are obliterated through the person of Jesus Christ. Yet we who possess the cure stay as far as possible from those who are sick. We visit them on occasion as a friend visits a dying man in a hospital as his time is approaching, looking upon him with pity and talking about everything except for what’s really on his mind. We talk about sports, about how comfortable his bed is and how good his meals are. But we all know all problems would be solved if he could simply get up and walk out of that hospital room, back to the life he was supposed to be living. It’s plain to see. So why must the children of God Almighty, possessing (or at least capable of possessing) the power of God Almighty, watch quietly as the patient dies? Wake up, you fools! Christ has defeated death, He has conquered sin.  We must stop living like we are on the losing team! And there is no other explanation for this than that we are afraid. We have become so comfortable in our nice, suburban American homes that we are scared of what may lie in wait outside the city walls. Too many generations have passed and too far removed are the stories that we have stopped believing we are bigger and badder than all the crap of the world. All the wolves and serpents, ghosts and goblins, beasts and villains, utterly collapse before the face of the Almighty God of the universe. He spoke them into being and with a whisper he can wipe them from the earth. Yet as we earnestly seek to bring God near to us, we even more earnestly seek to build the walls higher to keep the demons out. We are mistaken. God’s nature longs to run rampant through the beaten roads where few are willing to traverse. He desires nothing more to crash into a thousand evils and expose them all. He begs for us to bring Him (though He has all the power to do so on His own) into the taverns and whore houses and the living graveyards of earth. For it is in these dark corners that His glorious light shines brightest, that the demons cower lower and lower to the ground. Yet so few are willing to carry His light. And those that do go often allow the darkness to dampen their light because even they do not truly believe in its power. But believe me. The power contained in Christ is such that no one on earth has ever truly witnessed it. We have caught the faintest glimpses, echoes of echoes, the remnants of His passing by. And even these are enough to make the depths of Hell itself shudder. We must seize this power. We must fight in the alleys, in the sewers, among the enemy. Then we will truly see His power.